


Wine and Candle

by merrihael



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Drabble, Drinking, Established Relationship, Frequent References to Death, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kissing, Lots of kissing, M/M, Suggestive Themes, bittersweet kind of?, kind of an Iliad AU although it's not explicitly mentioned, owls in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 11:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15290487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrihael/pseuds/merrihael
Summary: Akaashi and Bokuto are just two ordinary soldiers before a battle. They seek comfort in one another as the Fates decide who lives, and who dies.





	Wine and Candle

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on an AU set in a similar setting, which was inspired by Homer's _The Iliad_ , and this is a byproduct of it that I had to get out of my system. Enjoy?

The atmosphere at a war camp on the eve of battle is unique. It is something that has to be felt to be understood. It is a time when one cannot be sure if they will live to see another evening, and so they indulge in all that the world has to offer to them, before young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more. They are fighting someone else’s war; they will kill, get wounded and die while their generals - save for a honourable few - sit on their comfortable thrones and order them about. They are fighting a war of feuding gods; and what is a mortal to a god?

 

Akaashi ducked into the tent with a heavy heart. Throughout the camp, people were celebrating loudly, drinking themselves stupid and finding peace in their lover’s lips. Bokuto was no stranger to this atmosphere. No stranger to the battlefield, either. No stranger to knowing that after today, it all might be over. That he might never see the beautiful white cliffs of his home, or go to the temples to pray. That he might not live a long, fulfilling life with his lover. All that is left to him and all the other soldiers, is to pray to his gods that they might be merciful, and if he may not live, they may grant him a quick death.

 

Akaashi sat down on the makeshift bed, careful not to spill the wine. Lying beside him, all muscular and long limbed and golden in the candlelight, Bokuto stirred. He’d been sleeping, completely oblivious to the ruckus all around them. Son of a noble, Bokuto could have had a comfortable life, spent playing games, practicing his archery, courting other young lordlings. If not for the war. If not for his father’s oath. 

 

‘I brought wine,’ Akaashi said, slowly. The words felt rough in his throat. Bokuto sat up, and held out his cup, still blinking Sleep away. Akaashi filled his cup slowly, trying to remember the feeling, and how Bokuto looks, soft and beautiful in the candlelight. Gods only know if this will be the last time he gets to see it. Bokuto drank and Akaashi watched, entranced - the movement of the muscles in his arm, the elegant column of his throat. If he could get drunk on just  _ looking _ , he would.

 

‘I went to pray,’ Bokuto said, quietly, like he did when there was more to what he was saying than he could voice. Akaashi did not miss the way his fingers tightened around the cup, so tightly he feared the metal would bend. 

 

‘And what did you pray for?’ Akaashi moved closer, so that his and Bokuto’s sides were touching. Bokuto was a comforting heat at his side, like the home hearth. Absentmindedly, Bokuto’s arm slid around his waist and came to rest on his hip, and remained there as a comforting weight.

 

‘I prayed that we’re not separated.’ Bokuto frowned and took a deep drink. Akaashi understood the unspoken words:  _ if not in life, then in death _ . 

 

‘I prayed for the same,’ Akaashi said, softly. He didn’t have to say that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if Bokuto was killed and he was the one left alive. He didn’t have to say that even if he went home victorious, a war-hero, he wouldn’t be able to find it in his heart to marry. He didn’t say that if Bokuto died, his heart would die with him, and be burned with him.

 

Bokuto did not say anything, just drank from his cup. Silence fell over their tent as the feast continued outside. Eventually, Bokuto set down his cup and tilted his head backward, staring up at the canopy of the tent as if he could see the stars shining far, far above. The candlelight highlighted his every good feature - his nose, his jaw, his neck - and made him look like one of the immortals. Akaashi pushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, and Bokuto looked back down at him, their faces close. A familiar expression settled over Bokuto’s face, one that Akaashi knew was mirrored in his own as he closed the distance between them.

 

Ever since that first time, when they’d kissed in their new tent in an unfamiliar land, Akaashi had been addicted. Addicted to the way Bokuto kissed him, as if he were a man drowning and Akaashi was his last hope. Addicted to the way Bokuto always somehow smelled of the sea, and of the summer fruit. Addicted to the way Bokuto’s fingers raked through his hair and travelled down his back. Addicted to the familiar, easy way in which Bokuto pulled him into his lap as they kissed. 

 

Bokuto’s lips were soft, and his hand on Akaashi’s chin was firm in a way that Akaashi loved. When he deepened the kiss, Akaashi willingly obliged, relishing in the feeling. Bokuto’s fingers slid into his hair as if they’d been made just for that, and the sounds of the feast around them faded out, leaving only the sound of their breaths, gasps and their hearts, beating in synchrony. 

 

‘Akaashi,’ Bokuto was hoarse when they pulled away for breath. His eyes were dazed when Akaashi kissed his temple, his cheek, his jaw, his neck, everywhere he could reach, trying to memorize the feeling. He sprung back to life with a groan when Akaashi kissed that sweet spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. His hands shook as they fumbled with the clasp of Akaashi’s clothes, as they threw them to the other side of the tent, narrowly missing a candle. They shook when he undid the cork of the little oil vial, and as Akaashi haphazardly tore off Bokuto’s clothes. They were steady once again when they’d found their place on Akaashi’s hips, and his lips were once again occupied with Akaashi’s, tasting faintly of wine…

 

Akaashi knew could be a dead man or a heartbroken, grieving man soon. But right now, in his lover’s arms, with their bodies and souls intertwined, he was the most alive he’d ever been.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this... whatever this was. I slipped in one line from _The Iliad_ also, so if you noticed, kudos to you. You can find me on Twitter **@merrihael** if you so like!


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